Regret
by silma
Summary: Draco & Harry slash. After a long and painful summer, Draco returns to Hogwarts to find he has feelings for his worst enemy. FINISHED!
1. Memories

AUTHORS NOTE:  
  
This story is being revised. So bear with me if some of the events don't make sense or contradict what just happened, or something like that. I'm making it better, cutting out the Ron part, and probably changing the ending and title. So thanks for reviewing, and cheers. (Updated 1-11-04)  
  
Love.  
  
That word makes me cringe.  
  
The lack of love in my life....  
  
Rape.  
  
Murder.  
  
Love doesn't exist in my world.  
  
I dream of my mother, every night.  
  
I dream of Voldemort.  
  
My dreams haunt me.  
  
I never thought I'd fall in love..  
  
I was wrong. 


	2. Innocently

It all started innocently enough.  
  
It was the beginning of my fifth year. I had new robes, a new owl, a new hair style, and a new attitude.  
  
Over the summer I had been abused by my father. Every time I disobeyed him, which was often, considering disobeying to him was not finishing my dinner; he would throw me down the stairs to the dungeons below our home. He would whip me; whip my back until I fainted from pain. Then he would undress me, ignoring the deep gashes on my back, and rape me. On the cold stone floors, he would re-open old wounds; delight in hearing my cries of pain. He would taunt me whenever he heard a word out of my mouth.  
  
"Draco," he would ask, casually, as if it was nothing in the world to be having a conversation going with your son as you were bleeding his soul.  
  
When I didn't reply, or couldn't, he would ask me if I was weak. "Draco, do you know what your name means? Dragon. Dragon's cannot be weak, and yet, you are certainly acting like it, aren't you? Poor, pitiful little dragon, can't take the slightest pain. What shite you will be for Lord Voldemort." He would laugh at that, then throw me on the floor, leaving my bruised body on the stones for as long as it took for me to get back up.  
  
I would ease myself up, crying out in pain at the long red scars all over my frail body. I didn't care if he heard me, I didn't care if that crying out meant I was weak, I didn't care about anything. I would dress, and then trudge up stairs, emotionless. Devoid of all feelings, numb with pain and shock.  
  
The welts on my back remain, memories to haunt me every night.  
  
The days of my summer were hell. I was confined in the Manor, with no communication with my so-called "friends." My father wanted no one to find out what had happened over the summer. I had to keep up a cool, calm façade that everyone expected of me.  
  
I knew Father wanted to build me up for receiving the Dark Mark on my 16th birthday. I knew it, and that's why I wanted to die. I didn't want to join the greatest wizard in the world in killing off Muggles. I was raised to hate Muggles, and I did, but the prospect of having a mark burned into my flesh, serving someone willingly, sacrificing my life for their homicidal pleasures did not appeal to me. I, who was beaten daily, did not enjoy the thought of answering to a master who would kill you if you failed. Take grim pleasure in your pain.  
  
I snuck into the kitchen one night. I stole a knife, headed up to my bedroom, and slit my wrist. Drew the knife slowly across my veins, opening them with ease, as my skin was paper-thin. I wrote a note to my father, blaming him for my death. I signed it with three drops of my smeared blood. I sat on my floor, on the rich Oriental rug, not noticing the blood seeping into it. Everything was hazy, it was getting dark.  
  
Father found me a minute later, had a house-elf bandage me, then whipped me for disobeying him and disrupting his plans for my future.  
  
At the end of the summer, Father took me to get a hair cut, a whole new look. He whispered to me to never, ever let anyone see the scars and bruises on my body. To never tell anyone about that summer. Only his Lord and master, Voldemort, was to know of how I dealt with maltreatment. "Soon," he whispered, "very soon, my son, you will join us. You do want to, don't you Draco? The feeling of serving the Dark Lord is unimaginable, indescribable. You will soon feel it."  
  
I arrived at King's Cross, Platform 9 ¾, on September 1st. I didn't speak to anyone. I walked away from a fight the Weasel wanted to start.  
  
I noticed Harry then. He certainly had changed over the summer. His muscles were toned, his skin tan, presumably from labor. He looked in all ways opposite of me, except for his eyes. He looked at me.....with this look. His eyes, they were like mine. Dead. He may have been smiling, but he understood. Understood the pain I was going through.  
  
"Leave him alone, Ron."  
  
It all started innocently enough... 


	3. Wounds

The ride to the school was quiet, as I had no friends to sit with. Crabbe and Goyle had long abandoned me for some first-year tempting them with food, and my usual number of female followers had dwindled until it consisted of one second year, who kept gazing at me dreamily. Apparently bruises and paleness is hot in blokes nowadays. I told her to sod off and settled myself into the luxuriously soft red velvet of the seat.  
  
I stared out the window as the train pulled away, watching a hundred or so parents wave joyously at their children inside the train. Some had tears in their eyes, some with grins, others looked nonchalant. I wished for someone to wave at me like that. Even the few parents who looked like they didn't care, weren't worried...at least they were there. They had probably chatted with their children on the way to the station about school and being careful. They had probably straightened up their children's collars and kissed their cheeks before entering the platform.  
  
I didn't have that. I had no one in the world to care about me.  
  
But I shouldn't feel sorry for myself. I am a Malfoy, after all, the most powerful wizarding family in the world. My father is one of Voldemort's most trusted and loyal followers, I have the best of the best, tonnes and tonnes of wizarding gold..and yet...  
  
I laughed softly to myself, pulling my gaze away from the scene and burying myself into a book about Dark Magic Father had bought me. It was gruesome, describing torture methods, curses, potions for death. I recognized a few that I had seen my father perform on some Muggles.  
  
"The 'Adflictatio' curse, though illegal, is one used widely by wizards. The curse, once directed to the victim, gives them intense feelings of being burnt alive, while in fact, producing a strong elixir that slowly disintegrates their organs. This spell works for over 10 minutes, with no outside marks. Once completed, this kills the victim. An accompanying potion that can be forced upon the drinker before the spell is performed is called 'Arsi Acies.' Literally meaning 'burn eye' it affects the drinker with an infection that burns the pupil, thus rendering the specimen blind."  
  
I shuddered. How disgusting. Honestly, I didn't understand why anyone would get pleasure by killing someone by burning them alive. Or raping them. Or beating them, for that matter. My father, he is a sick bastard.  
  
Thinking that, I realized that that was the first time I had laughed, or thought of something funny, all summer.  
  
The humor quickly died however, as I pushed up my robe sleeve and felt the still-healing scars on my wrist. I could do it now, I realized, and no one would be the wiser. I could open the wounds and make it look like an accident. I could die, then and there, in the solitude of the Hogwarts school train. My blood could soak into the carpet. I wouldn't have to deal with anything anymore.  
  
I reached into a secret pocket inside my school robes and flipped open my pocket knife. Bloody Muggle contraption, I had forgotten I had had it until I came across it while searching through my old robes. I had stolen it from a first-year a few years back. I remembered enjoying the look on his face as he threatened to curse the person who took it.  
  
I pulled up my shirt sleeve as well as my robe and gently prodded a scar with the top of the tiny knife. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and scissored my skin with tiny wounds, starting from the crook of my elbow to the wrist. Sighing in absolute pleasure as the pain seeped out of me in the form of crimson memories.  
  
I heard a scream. One, short scream, then silence. In the darkness of the night, it could be anyone. Father could just be punishing a house-elf, a whore, a Muggle. Father didn't need an excuse to corrupt people; his pleasure came from their cries.  
  
I heard another scream, quieter this time, but still audible from upstairs. It sounded like a woman, a voice that I head heard many times before..  
  
"Narcissa!" My father screamed in fury. "How dare you disobey me? How dare you defy the Dark Lord! You will die for this, you poisonous whore, and the pain you feel now is nothing compared to the pain you will feel when you are alone."  
  
I threw my satin sheets to the side and quietly tiptoed out of bed. Edging to the door, I pressed my ear up against it as to hear more clearly. There was a gasp, a shuddering cry, and then I heard my Father kill the only other person I had in the world.  
  
A scream of fury, then footsteps as my father retreated to his bedroom upstairs. I scampered back into bed, closed my eyes, and imagined the look on my mother's lifeless face.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
My eyes snapped open, the voice awakening me from my memory. They widened when I saw who it was.  
  
What was Harry Potter, of all people, doing in my compartment? 


	4. Reflection

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed, his emerald eyes widening at the sight of me with a knife to my arm. "What the hell...." He seemed not to have words to ask me what I was so obviously up to. He ceased talking, instead gazing at the pink marks on my arm, my hand still holding the knife inches away from the sliced wrist, ready to strike the soft flesh.  
  
I gazed at him, too, for a moment. Our eyes locked: emerald to gray. Realizing what I was doing, the energy that was flowing between us, I broke the contact. I snapped my pocketknife shut and slid it into an empty pocket in my midnight black robes that contrasted so shockingly to my parchment- like skin. I stood, matching Harry's height to the inch.  
  
"Potter." I said his name calmly, no icy glare, no traditional Malfoy smirk, my voice giving no evidence to the fact that my worst enemy had entered my compartment, without permission, and saw me trying to commit suicide.  
  
His eyes were still wide, and he made no move indicating whether he was staying to talk, or leaving in horror, off to tell his Weasel and Mudblood friends what he had just seen.  
  
After a moment of intense silent, so heavy on my shoulders, I spoke.  
  
"Potter, what do you need?" My voice had a hint of annoyance in it, my outward appearance betraying my inner feelings. Surprising myself, I wanted Potter to stay. I didn't know why, or what in Merlin's beard we would talk about, I just wanted to continue studying his face. He had stayed thin over the summer, but tanned and was obviously much stronger than me. Eyes dull, as I said. No flecks of light, no merriment, just...dead. We both had something to hide, but we also had something we needed to share.  
  
Finally, he spoke. "Malfoy, what were you doing?"  
  
I turned to gaze out the window, watching the hills of the countryside of England roll past at lightening speed. "Nothing." I replied. This time, my voice was icy, again betraying the fact that the one thing that I wanted was for Potter to stay. I was in desperate need of someone to talk to, to listen to, even just look at.  
  
I again turned to face him. "Why?" I asked simply. He seemed surprised at my genuine curiosity. I remembered how the last four years with him had been a slew of lies, insults, injuries, and malicious glares. How I had thought up the idea for the "Potter stinks" badges during the Triwizard Tournament, and how I had sportingly worn one faithfully every day to class. How I had secretly hoped that he would be murdered during our second year.  
  
He shrugged. "I don't know, Malfoy, I was looking for an empty compartment and then I found you in this one.... that surprised me, yeah, but imagine how I felt when I found you with a knife to arm. Imagine, Malfoy."  
  
I nodded gravely, eyes downcast, doing what he asked, imagining if I walked into a compartment to find a fellow student about to kill himself or herself. About to slice open their skin and let themselves bleed to death. I may have had a cold Slytherin heart, but my conscience just wouldn't have let that happen.  
  
I was about to open my mouth, ask why he was looking for an empty compartment, why he needed solitude.  
  
He was out of the sliding glass door and halfway down the hallway before I had the chance to ask. I opened the door, surprised, and watched his back for a second until he turned a corner to head to the boys loo.  
  
I turned and sat down again, chin in hands. What had I just done?  
  
I had let Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, my apparent worst enemy, into my compartment. I had had a brief conversation with him. I had not yelled, cursed, spit, or attacked him. I had simply listened, replied, gazed into his green eyes..  
  
I was everything opposite of what a Malfoy should act like. We were taught to hate, curse, murder our enemies. Show no sympathy, no mercy. We were a higher class than anyone. No one was better than us. Not even God.  
  
To add to the fact that I didn't want to kill Potter, I was gay. Something strictly forbidden in our family line. It didn't produce heirs, and that's all we Malfoys cared about. Procreating. Making more evil, white faced, silver haired little bastards to join Voldemort and kill innocent people.  
  
God, I hated my family.  
  
I had realized I was gay over the summer. It wasn't the rape from my father. It wasn't my string of disgusting girlfriends, slobbering all over me and fairly begging for sex.  
  
I had been thinking about it - something I did a lot that summer - and I realized. The reason I didn't like the girls I dated because I wasn't interested in them. Other blokes would have liked them; they had nice boobs, great bodies, shiny hair, good teeth, tonnes of money, powerful fathers. They were great in bed. But I didn't want that. I didn't want glossed lips whispering in my ear about how sexy I was. I didn't want the scent of perfume lingering in my nose as I walked back up to my dormitory after a midnight stroll around the lake.  
  
I wanted blokes.  
  
I needed that musky smell of sweat after he played in a long Quidditch game and before he hopped into the showers. The feel of arms, tan and muscular, encircling my thin waist. A husky voice whispering in my ear.  
  
Nothing else. No skirts, matching lipstick, mascara, and a bra lingering in my bed sheets.  
  
A Quidditch body, dark hair, green eyes..  
  
I sighed and drew my knees up to my chin, again gazing out the window at the rushing scene before me. I could never find someone so perfect. No one to meet my standards.  
  
I desperately wanted companionship.  
  
Wait, I thought.  
  
Harry had gone....where?  
  
The sliding glass door was closed behind me before you could say "Hogwarts." 


	5. Agreement

As not to draw attention to myself, I walked down the hall with my head down. My silvery hair almost covered my forehead and gray eyes. My hands in my pockets, I headed towards the door where I knew Potter lingered behind.  
  
Reaching it, I smiled to myself and reached for the handle. What a surprise Potter would get when he saw me. I wondered vaguely what we would do but my musing was startled as the door swung upon and almost hit me in the face. Looking up, I swore at the danger I had almost been in. "What the hell?" Then I realized the culprit who had almost mangled me.  
  
Potter rolled his eyes as he looked at my startled face. "Malfoy?"  
  
I rolled my shoulders back, swept the hair out of my face, and swiftly regained my composure. Standing up straight, I held my chin up and said "Yes, that's my name, Potter. What are you doing interrupting me?"  
  
DAMN! I swore to myself. Why, oh why, was I being such a malicious bastard?  
  
Harry's long-lashed eyes narrowed at me. "Interrupting you? If I'm not mistaken, I was here first. So sod off, Malfoy. I don't need any of your shit and I don't want to get in a fight with you."  
  
Taking in his angry face, I smiled and stood even straighter, if that was possible. "Not a chance, Potter." My lips curved into that unmistakable Malfoy smirk. Harry's face was an instant mask of hatred.  
  
The smirk still lingering on my face, I swept my eyes down the length of Harry's body. Since he hadn't yet put on his black Hogwarts school robes, I could clearly see his thinness. A black belt, clearly too large for him, encircled his waist while wrists almost too small to be allowed peeked out the end of his too-small jumper. God, his relatives made him work, that was evident, but did they feed him?  
  
His eyes caught mine as I looked back up at his face. My mouth itched to turn into a smile, to apologize for how I had gazed at him so obviously. My upbringing though, my father teaching me that all Malfoys got what we wanted, was getting in the way. I had the undesirable urge to just grab Harry - after all, I wanted him, and he was lower than me.........so why not?  
  
"Nice look." I sneered, watching his eyes grow wide and his face turn crimson. "Looking thin today, Potter. Relatives didn't want to feed you? I guess that's understandable. Who'd want to spend hard-earned money on you?"  
  
Harry's face was quickly drained of color, and there was a silence before he spoke. I sneered again, letting the words take full effect.  
  
"What in the hell is WRONG with you, Malfoy? A half-hour ago, you actually seemed decent. You looked sad. I told Ron not to fight you. I felt bad for you. Minutes later, I go into your compartment and find you trying to kill yourself!! You were actually kind to me, for once. You don't curse me. I wanted to ask you, Malfoy...I wanted to ask you..."  
  
He was silent, and I stood there, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to continue.  
  
"What happened this summer, Malfoy? Last year, when I left, you hated me more than before, you insulted my friends, my family, laughed at me when you had heard of Voldemort trying to kill me - and then, look at you now! You're acting like your normal self, Malfoy, like the bastard you are, but I saw what you were doing in that compartment. I saw what happened to your wrists, and I know that you want to talk about it. Behind your cool, calm, façade, you're just like me. You just want to get it off your chest. So, Malfoy, I'm here to talk to, but you can't make any remarks, and you can't tell a soul - I don't know why I'm trusting you, but I am. Do you want to talk, or not?"  
  
I crossed my arms and kept my eyebrows raised, but the smirk had melted from my face. It was true that I had changed, my abuse over the summer had affected me, but like I was going to tell him, my worst enemy, what had happened!  
  
"Right, Potter. I'm going to tell you what happened to me. I've never talked to you before, why should I start now?" Calm and aloof, I watched Harry as his face gradually darkened, just like my fathers had done when I had disobeyed him, the porcelain-white skin slowly growing red with anger.  
  
"Dammit, Malfoy, can't you just accept your feelings and TALK ABOUT THEM? I know we've not been the best of friends, I know you've been raised to hate me, I know that as soon as you get home for the holidays you're going to have that disgusting mark burnt into your skin just like your father, you're going to join with Voldemort against me...and I DON'T CARE! I want to talk to you, Malfoy, and I know you want to to. So, I'm trying again, before I lose my fuckin' nerve: do you want to talk about it?"  
  
Heads poked out of various compartments throughout the train, each person curious to know what the commotion was about. I looked at Harry furiously, and he smiled grimly. "What do you say, Malfoy?"  
  
I didn't know what to do – everyone was watching, and more then a few were whispering to each other. How strange this must have looked to people – a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, not two feet away from each other, and not a punch had been thrown.  
  
"Fine." I whispered through clenched teeth. My father wouldn't want me to talk to Harry, and that was why I agreed to meet him. It was true what Harry said. Over the holidays I was going to receive the Dark Mark. I would live life for the three months I had left, and do all I could humanly do to piss my father off.  
  
He nodded. "I'll send you an owl later." Turning, Harry walked back to meet his friends, and the few nosy people still looking out of their compartments watched him leave, then looked to me.  
  
"Piss off!" I exclaimed, more mad at myself then at them.  
  
What had I been thinking? 


	6. Eyeing

Reaching Hogwarts, I grabbed my book and filed out of the train with the rest of the students. Head down again, I pushed through the crowd and eventually reached a carriage and climbed in, giving no thought to if anyone was inside or not.  
  
I sit down on a seat, pulling the door closed, making the carriage an almost-pitch black. Leaning back, I inhale the sweet, musty scent of dry hay. Staring almost blindly at the ceiling, I imagine what the Great Feast is going to be like. Sitting alone. No one with me, no one I would even remotely want to talk to. Listening to the Sorting Hat chant its cute little song and then sending our table a few more blue-blooded pricks.  
  
My eyes close, and I drift off into a dream-like state, where I meet a bloke with green eyes and shaggy black hair.  
  
The carriage jolted, and I started, opening my eyes to see that we had arrived in front of the school. I wrapped my robe around me and quickly exited, my head down and arms crossed across my chest, staring sharply out of the corner of my eye for any sign of Harry.  
  
None.  
  
Entering the Great Hall in the flood of students, I continued searching, and for one fleeting second, I saw a pair of green eyes focus on mine.  
  
Smiling slightly, I got to the Slytherin table and sat down in an empty spot as far away from my classmates as possible. Glancing around, watching the students file in, I got more than a few strange stares. What was Draco Malfoy, the most popular bloke in Slytherin, doing sitting alone? What a shock it would be for everyone if they heard about my summer holiday. I could just imagine the gasps of horror and the sickened expressions.  
  
Losing myself in my thoughts for what seemed like the fiftieth time today, I vaguely noticed the Sorting Hat chanting its cheery little tune and first- years gradually sitting down all around me. Dumbledore stood and gestured at the tables, not saying a word. The first-years all gasped as the tables were suddenly sagging with every culinary masterpiece imaginable. The hall suddenly burst into chatter and my temples began to pound. Chancing a glance at the Gryffindor table, I noticed Harry had the same expression as me on his face: grimacing in pain like the whole notion of school and friends upset him. Like he wanted solitude, or at least someone to relate to.  
  
Scowling at all the insanely happy people around me, I slumped into my seat and ignored my groaning stomach, instead concentrating on trying to catch Harrys eye.  
  
The Hogwarts school year had begun.  
  
After the massive feast is over, Dumbledore stands to say a few words. After prattling on about restricted items, no spells in the hallway, and the ever-present, never-obeyed rule of not entering the Forbidden Forest, the whole of the school gets and files toward the door, then separates, first-years mechanically following the prefects and upperclassmen automatically using the quickest route to their room. Halfway to the common room, my head down and fringe in front of my face as usual, my eyes widen and I stop in my tracks as I remember my main goal for the day: find Harry. If, and when I found him, what would I do? Only time could tell.  
  
Cautiously veering away from the students, I made my way towards the Gryffindor common room. I knew vaguely where it was located but not the exact directions to get there. After going up and then down a few flights of stairs, I entered a dark, damp hallway that I knew was definitely not the site of one of the Hogwarts houses. Not knowing where I else to go, I ventured down the stone corridor, keeping an eye out for any sign of movement. My curiosity getting the better of me, I continued walking down the dank artery, looking for a door, a statue, or even a person.  
  
Almost to the end of the hallway, I turn around, disappointed in the utter stillness. I had hoped for maybe a niche, a cubbyhole, even, a place where I could escape from a full room of very vocal teenage boys whom I had the displeasure of rooming with. I imagined at that very moment they were busy comparing numbers of girls they'd shagged over the summer and how many times they stolen Firewhiskey from their parents.  
  
Hands in my pockets, I dawdled down the hall, taking as much time as possible until I had to enter the Slytherin common room. Kicking loose stones, observing the different shades of moss on the walls, I was almost to the stairway when I heard a sigh. Not a sigh of wind, nor a sigh from a teacher or disgruntled prefect patrolling the halls..  
  
Harry Potter stood in one shadowy corner.  
  
Seeing me, what looked like the beginning of a smile touched his lips. Emerging from the gloom, he stepped closer and closer to me, until there was barely two inches dividing us. My mouth dry, I couldn't say a word.  
  
"Hey, Draco." Harry murmured, keeping his voice down to prevent anyone above or below from hearing us. "I saw you staring at me at dinner. Were you thinking about our meeting?"  
  
He smiled, almost mysteriously, waiting for my answer.  
  
"I..I.."  
  
For the first time in probably over a millennia, a member of the Malfoy family was at a loss for words. Somewhere, my great-great grandfather was rolling in his grave. I try to turn away, try to narrow my eyes to his, try to scoff and say "Never mind about that, Potter, I don't want to have any contact with you."  
  
Brilliant emerald lock onto cold steel for a moment..  
  
Then, a hand on the back of my neck.  
  
Warmth tingled up my spine and made me shiver as I realized that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the most famous wizard in the world, friends to Muggles, Mudbloods, and wizards alike, was kissing me. Harry effing Potter was KISSING me.  
  
Not just any kiss either. Teeth bit at bottom lips, tongues explored and entwined, warm lips traveled up and down my cheekbone. His fingers massaged my neck before traveling up to my hair and tangling it in his hands.  
  
It was suffocating. I couldn't breath.  
  
I didn't want to, or hell, even need to.  
  
I just wanted to concentrate on Harry.  
  
Suddenly, I heard a clatter of footsteps on the stairway below, and the unmistakable Scottish brogue of the Gryffindor head, Professor McGonagall.  
  
"You know, Albus, I'm surprised you didn't make Harry Potter a prefect this year. Isn't he quite qualified?"  
  
Before I could hear the answer, Harry had broken away from me and clattered down the hallway, again disappearing into the blackness at the very end of the hall. For all I knew, there was a door back there.  
  
Frozen to the spot, my cheeks flushed, heart racing, and stomach churning, I watched in horror as the two teachers ascended the stairs to the very corridor I stood in.  
  
Deep in conversation, they didn't recognize a human being was in front of them until they had almost rain into me. Dumbledore just folded his hands in front of him and gazed under his spectacles at me, and McGonagall raised one thin eyebrow and spoke eight words I couldn't answer truthfully to. I couldn't even think of a lie. The edges of my brain were all fuzzy, all I could focus on was the fact I was shivering with warm and surprise and that my mouth was utterly parched.  
  
"And what exactly ARE you doing, Mr. Malfoy?" 


	7. Notes

McGonagall repeated her question, this time in harsher tones. This time she was able to kick me back into reality.  
  
"Nothing, Professor." I answered simply, looking at the stones below my feet.  
  
Her eyebrows rose at the lack of spite in my voice. She and Dumbledore glanced at each other for a moment, and then McGonagall turned to me and said, firmly,  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, if I ever catch you in this hallway again, I will quickly inform your Head of House. Now, if you please, could you return to your common room?"  
  
I nodded and headed to the staircase, glancing back once to see if I could see any sign of Harry. The darkness was just as dark as ever, as darkness usually is, and McGonagall glared at me pointedly, causing me to rush down the stairs like a Flobberworm was after me.  
  
I roamed through the hallways a bit, carefully avoiding contact with prefects or teachers, before finally catching sight of the hallway leading to my common room. If anyone else walked down this hallway, it'd just look like an abandoned path leading to nowhere. But, in fact, the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was a stone door in a stone wall, which first- years always could never find.  
  
Opening my mouth to monotonously recite the password, I realized, with horror, that I didn't -know- the bloody password. Shite.  
  
Glancing around me for any sign of students, ghosts, or teachers, and finding none, I felt my temper rise. It was all fuckin' Potters fault! He's the one that kissed me and distracted me! He was the one who....  
  
"Draco?"  
  
Crabbe was poking his head out of the doorway.  
  
"Get the hell out of my way!" I muttered, pushing the huge brute roughly aside as I stalked into the room, keeping my eyes to the floor and trying to ignore the stares of other students. What was Draco Malfoy doing back one hour late?  
  
Climbing angrily up the stairs, I threw open the door to the bedroom and stalked to my bed, recognizable by the huge leather trunk and family owl sitting atop it, hooting madly.  
  
"Shut it up, will you?" a bloke I didn't recognize asked, and I gave him the rudest glare I could muster before opening the cage, freeing my owl, then swinging the trunk heavily onto my bed. Hopping on, I piercingly glowered at my fellow roommates, who were silently gaping at me with mouths open, before harshly closing my bed curtains.  
  
The moment my curtains closed, the chattering began again.  
  
"What's wrong with him?"  
  
"Probably didn't get shagged over the summer."  
  
'Oh, but I did, you bloody bastards!' I thought bitterly.  
  
"Yup, that'd do it." a person added.  
  
"How many did you score?"  
  
"Three."  
  
"Only?" A scoff. "I got eight."  
  
The fucking bastards! They had waited 'till I came around to talk about their stupid sex lives. Like I gave a rats ass who they shagged. Damn them.  
  
Flipping open my trunk, I threw robes and sweaters out, boxers and tee- shirts, looking for a buried book at the very bottom of my trunk.  
  
It wasn't there. Instead, a note from (who else) my father.  
  
"Draco," it read, in thick, blood-red script,  
  
"I've confiscated your so-called 'journal.' You did a horrible job in hiding it. I've read it and am very surprised to read that you're gay? Wonderful, my only son is a homosexual. So, who are you going to bring home next summer? Last it was Pansy Parkinson, next it'll be Harry Potter. You disgust me.  
  
I will expect you home at Christmas, and then you will join Lord Voldemorts ranks. And yes, Draco, you will join him, or I personally shall hurt you. I would have no regrets doing it.  
  
Have a successful school year.  
  
Your father,  
  
Lucius Malfoy."  
  
Father? How dare he call himself my father? He was no more than a follower of dark magic, a carnal, murdering man who so happened to be married to the woman who had given birth to me. He wasn't my father. I didn't know that word.  
  
Neither did Harry.  
  
My anger quickly disappeared, almost as quickly as water evaporates in the sun.  
  
Harry knew my pain.  
  
He didn't have parents.  
  
He didn't have love, which was evident.  
  
Did he share my memories of death and abuse?  
  
I shot out of bed at lightening speed, ripped open the curtains and raced to the window, whistling for my owl.  
  
A letter. Go, Draco, it only took you half an hour.  
  
After a minute, the bird hadn't appeared, and I was getting uncomfortable standing in a room of guys changing for bed, talking about their girlfriends and what they looked like.  
  
Goyle even tried to talk to me. "What about you, Draco? How many girls did you.."  
  
I cut him off before he could finish. "Shut the bloody fuck up, Goyle. I don't want to talk about my fuckin' summer so just fuck off." I turned back to the window and waited, almost as if I had never insulted anyone.  
  
After a few minutes, my owl flew to my arm, hooted softly, and nibbled at my robe. Where in all hell had it learned affection like that? Certainly my family had never given it to him.  
  
I took him to my bed and re-shut the curtain, settling down comfortably into my green and silver silk sheets. Grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill from my trunk, I settled down and started my letter.  
  
"Harry,"  
  
Good job Draco, I prompted myself. Now write more.  
  
"How're you doing?"  
  
Good, good, getting there.  
  
"Listen, what happened in the hallway..."  
  
Gah. I was stuck. Again, I was at loss for words.  
  
"...wasn't bad. I mean, I'd like if it happened again."  
  
I re-read over what I had written. I sounded like a bloody teenager, composing his first love note. No wonder Lucius had wanted me to take writing lessons long ago; I had the writing skills of a log.  
  
Surprising myself by laughing, I continued.  
  
"I was wondering, how was your summer? You know, you caught me in the train....and I was wondering...did you do that, too?  
  
Anyway....have to go.  
  
Cheers,  
  
-D."  
  
Yes! I had accomplished it. I had written a letter to Harry Potter.  
  
Rolling it up and securing it with a bit of leather, I tied the note to the owls' leg and opened the curtains to let him fly free. Hopefully, Harry would send me a response.  
  
Sine I knew it would be at least five minutes before Harry replied, I decided to get dressed and ready for bed. Dragging my trunk off the bed, it landed with a heavy 'clunk' next to the bird cage. I shifted that and began rummaging through my clothes for my pajamas.  
  
Pulling on the evergreen silk trousers, I stowed the shirt back in my trunk, since it wasn't yet cold enough to wear it. Vaguely noticing the silence around me, I was pleased to see that all of the guys had either gone down to the common room or to the bathroom, and I hoped that they would stay that way.  
  
A hooting sound, and my owl returned.  
  
Untying the letter from his leg, I started reading it then and there, not even bothering to get back into my bed or charm some more light into the room.  
  
"Draco -  
  
I agree.  
  
Answer to your question - yes. I need to tell you about it, and I want to hear about what happened to you.  
  
When can we meet in secret?  
  
-H."  
  
I smiled and scribbled a response, then got into bed, grinning like never before.  
  
A day in the life of Draco Malfoy:  
  
-Get kissed by Harry Potter  
  
-Meet Harry Potter in a secluded spot.  
  
I vaguely wondered what color Harry's boxers were before falling into a deep sleep.  
  
(Anyone know Draco's owls' name? Merci!!) 


	8. Dungeons

I woke up the next morning, alarm clock ringing like mad, and was greeted by my owl, which dropped a single piece of parchment on my face. Eyes fuzzy from sleep, head filled with dreams that I wouldn't tell anyone (three guesses about who), I grabbed the letter and read it quickly, as there was only nine words on it.  
  
Draco -  
  
Dungeon sounds fine. 10 p.m. Invisibility cloak?  
  
-Harry  
  
Of course I had an invisibility cloak. I was a Malfoy, I had everything. Glancing at the clock, I drew back my green curtains, ignoring the looks of my roommates, and reached for my trunk, grabbing my uniform and my cloak. I observed my hair in my tiny mirror I had always kept in my pocket; it was as silvery as ever and as long as ever. Good. I had heard the hair-in-the- eyes look was sexy.  
  
I put on my black leather shoes, grabbed my wand, and headed down to stairs to breakfast. Maybe I'd catch a glimpse of him there.  
  
Fairly running past any girls who wanted to walk with me to breakfast and practically smacking Goyle when he offered his apologies, I headed out into the hallway alone, glancing behind me every so often just to make sure no one was following me. It seems stupid, but I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.  
  
My thinking was rudely interrupted when I encountered a couple snogging in the hallway close to the boys' bathrooms. Inspecting them closer, I realized it was the Weasel. And his boyfriend.  
  
"Why, hello." I interrupted their snog-fest. Their eyes wide, they leapt apart, hair mussed and cheeks red, and instantly looked around to see if anyone besides me had noticed them.  
  
Weasley acknowledged me coldly. "What, Malfoy?"  
  
I smiled, equally as coldly, then simply said: "You'll soon see me with my 'friend', Weasley, and don't you dare do a thing to us. Understand?"  
  
He smirked in agreement, and I headed off to breakfast.  
  
The Great Hall was not nearly as crowded as it would be in a half hour; people had only begun waking up a few minutes ago. There were no Slytherins, save me, a few Hufflepuffs, a Ravenclaw or two, and, of course, Granger and Harry at the Gryffindor table. Granger, with her book open, drinking up the knowledge like it was a pint of butter beer, and Harry, fingering something in his hands, gazing absently at his pile of toast, obviously somewhere completely different than Hogwarts, 7 a.m.  
  
I walked past his table, slowing slightly, waiting for him to see me. He didn't, but I was pleased to see that it was parchment in his hand, my letter from last night.  
  
I smiled, dropping my head so no one could see me, and walked to my table for a breakfast of toast and eggs, silently wishing for 10 p.m. to come.  
  
The day went by - as it always does when you're waiting for something to happen - slowly. I fell asleep in History of Magic, and the other classes I just sat through, vacantly staring at my books in front of me, reading the same sentence time and time again.  
  
Finally, my wish came true: classes were over, no Quidditch practice, and only twenty minutes to go before I would meet Harry in the dungeons.  
  
I made sure I that I smelled good, was dressed well, and, most of all, looked good. The only time I gave any thought to my appearance was when I saw Harry, and then I brushed aside my long hair from my silvery eyes, smoothed my robes- I was like a first-year with their first crush.  
  
No one in my House paid any attention to me now; they wouldn't have cared if I had announced I was killing myself, and then thrown myself out a window. But it didn't bother me; I didn't need to be cared for. I didn't need to be the center of attention anymore. I actually had something to make me happy, and I wanted to focus all my attention on him.  
  
I got no glances from anyone this time, the room was silent as people changed for bed and brushed their teeth. I quickly got my cloak out of my trunk, hiding it beneath my robe, then donning it as I went down the stairs to my Common Room.  
  
I silently exited the room and entered the dark hallways, lit only by torches set high in the stone walls. My shoes made no sound, and all the time my eyes were alert for signs of movement. Only having to descend one story to get to the dungeons, I slowed as to make sure I entered at the right time. Fashionably late was something Lucius (as I referred to him now, as he wasn't my father) had taught me and it worked quite well in situations like this, when I wanted to make the perfect entrance.  
  
Looking around, I saw two heavy-looking wooden doors. One, I knew, led to the Potions classroom, and the other contained Harry, unless he too was taught the fine art of lateness.  
  
I creaked open the door, inch by inch, and whispered a spell to see the contents of the room.  
  
"Lumos."  
  
To my surprise, the usually empty room was now equipped with a coach, two chairs, a crackling fireplace, and a coffee table. Apparently Harry was here already, and he had refurbished the place. Damn, that was my job.  
  
Sliding carefully into the gap between the door and wall, I was greeted with a blindfold over my eyes. My wand was grabbed from me before I could curse the culprit, whoever it was, and I struggled as I felt myself being led to the center of the room - for what, I didn't know. Was Harry involved in this?  
  
I sat down, sinking into the softness of the couch, and felt someone sit next to me. Before I could rip the blindfold off in frenzy, and grab my wand, I heard a voice.  
  
"Hello, Draco."  
  
My insides seemed to liquefy.  
  
It was Harry.  
  
I smiled and made to untie the blindfold, puzzled but pleased at the strange action. Harrys hand stopped me, and before I knew it, we were snogging.  
  
Not any snogging, no, this was the kind of snogging that you only read about in those trashy romance novels, the kind that you get so into you barely realize what's around you, your breath stops, and a great tingly feeling fills up your brain, and you can't remember anything. That kind of snog.  
  
My blindfold is untied and I'm facing him, his black hair as messy as ever, his green eyes penetrating mine, and his lips upturned in a grin.  
  
"How're you doing?"  
  
I laughed at his question, how did he THINK I was doing??  
  
"I'm good too, thanks." he answered, grinning slyly. "Nice to see you."  
  
"You too."  
  
He took my hands in his. "So..well...I guess we're here to talk about..well...." his voice faltered and he looked down, fingering my scars again.  
  
"Our summers?" I finished.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well..want me to go first?"  
  
He laughed and nodded, settling against the numerous pillows and looking intently at me. "Shoot."  
  
Smiling gravely, I began.  
  
"Well, it started at the beginning of the summer.I had been home for about a week and I knew something was wrong, my parents weren't getting along, our dinners were even more grim than usual. I generally avoided my dad for a while, and then it happened. He killed her."  
  
Harry's eyes grew wide. "What?" he gasped.  
  
I continued, recounting all the events of my summer, watching Harry as his face grew paler and paler and his mouth dropped in utter shock. Finally, I was done.  
  
"Oh....oh God, Draco, I'm so sorry." Leaning over and taking my face in his hands, he kissed me softly before digging up his painful memories.  
  
"You know how my relatives hate me, right? Well, they do, they seem to think I'm some kind of murderer, they blame me for every bad thing that happens in the house, they make me do all the housework, all of my clothes belonged to Dudley, the works. So I go back this summer, and everything's going as normal: the second I get home I'm given a paint can and ordered to re-paint the hallway and Dudley's bedroom. So I do it, I'm not going to argue, I'm too damn tired. So I'm doing this, Dudley's sick of bugging me so he goes off and watches some T.V., and I'm just painting when Uncle Vernon comes along. I prepare myself for some screaming and continue painting. He starts, ranting and raving about how I'm damn ungrateful and I'm messing up on purpose, and when I don't respond, he smacks me across the head. So hard, stars come to my eyes. But I pick myself up and continue. He grabs my arm, grips it so tight he leaves bruises, and he smacks me again, same spot, and I'm knocked into the wall again. I'm dazed, I can't get up or I know I'll black out, and he kicks me in the stomach and leaves. Just like that."  
  
Silence. I have nothing to say, I want him to continue, I want to know if he was hurt as badly as me. He catches my eye once, and then continues.  
  
"So it goes like that for a few more days. Dammit, Draco, I'm actually afraid of my uncle! I don't know what the hell's wrong with me...he's just never actually hit me, laid a hand on me before, and I don't want him to do it again..it just...scaring me, you know?  
  
It gets worse. I know I can't use magic; I'll get expelled definitely, so I deal with it. Vernon sees that I'm taking it, and he hates that, he wants me to whimper, to cry, but I take it. So he "ups" the punishment, taking all of my possessions, he fuckin' kills my owl, he kicks me, punches me, and I'm screaming...inside. I want to die, for him to die..for me to kill him, I want my pain and his life to end. But I take it.  
  
Then...one night he comes into my room, and Draco, I don't even want to say what happens next.he grabs me..and he..."  
  
Harry's crying silently now, so I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder, letting all his anger and sadness pour out, all the abuse, and all his memories.  
  
"You can tell me." 


	9. Mistakes

After a few moments he stopped, lifting his head and wiping his eyes, face red, obviously ashamed of what he had done. I smiled sadly, I knew this was the first time he had cried about his family, and, like me, he had let out pain in other ways.  
  
"God, Draco, I'm sorry." he apologized, looking into the fire, seeming to be waiting for something. "You know what I was going to say? It was like..what your dad did to you. Afterwards...I was I shock. Really, I didn't get up for two days. I couldn't get out of my room anyway, Vernon has locked me in..but I didn't want to get out, didn't want to escape. So that's why I started..." He trailed off and glanced at his wrists, and I knew what he meant. "I just wanted it to end."  
  
I nodded. I knew exactly what that was like.  
  
"You know how we saw each other in that hallway? At the end, there's a room. An unused classroom, full of spider webs and dust, an old lesson on the chalkboard...hasn't been used for at least twenty years. You know what I do there?"  
  
I nodded again, pain filling my eyes and numbing my thoughts.  
  
"I had to just get away from everyone!" he exclaimed with sudden energy. "I mean, I go to school, and everyone's talking to me, Hermione is nagging me about homework already...dammit, the school years just started!! It just pissed me off; I could never be at peace. Even in the fuckin' bathroom, someone was always there, asking how my summer went! God, can't they realize I just want to be left alone?"  
  
He laughed nervously and looked at me. "Wow."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Talking. I should do that more often."  
  
We laughed in unison. It felt good.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
After that night, I noticed a change in Harry. Although he wasn't as friendly or as talkative as he used to be, he had definitely opened up more. He laughed occasionally at his friends jokes. He worked harder in school, telling me that he wanted his good grades to get a job in the Ministry and finally "get out of that fuckin' house." He had told me he had stopped cutting, and whenever something was bothering him, whenever he hurt, he would write me. We'd meet in the classroom at the end of the hall, and we'd just talk. Sometimes we didn't snog or anything. Baring our most intimate secrets was enough.  
  
Everything was perfect. I knew it was too good to be true.  
  
Harry had written a letter to me, asking again when we could meet. Since his owl had been killed, and it was late at night, he hadn't wanted to risk getting caught sending a school hour after curfew, he had borrowed Weasley's owl, a disgusting little bird named Pig. Pig had delivered the letter, nipped me a few times, and then taken my reply to the Gryffindor Common Room.  
  
As Harry told me, he, Weasley, and the Mudblood, Granger, had been sitting around the fire, comparing Potions notes. Pig, the stupid owl that he was, had dropped my reply - in Ron's lap. Ron obviously thinks it's for him, how could he not, so he opens it. Reads it.  
  
"I swear, Draco, his mouth dropped to the floor. He just stared at the letter, for practically a minute, and then I realized. Shit! It was your response! I tried to snatch it away, but Hermione grabbed it."  
  
"She stares at me, obviously utterly stunned, not knowing what to say. And finally, she asks: 'Harry, this is a joke..right?'"  
  
"I shook my head."  
  
"Oh, God..Draco, I wanted to die then and there. Their looks of utter loathing as they grabbed their books and headed up to the dormitories...it was enough to make me suicidal again. I mean, besides you, I had no one in the world. No one."  
  
He showed me a fresh scar on his arm. "It was horrible."  
  
I really didn't have any words of comfort. I knew that one day our secret would be found out. One day we'd have to admit that we, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, the worst possible enemies...were going out. Were in love.  
  
"Well, Harry...we'd have had to tell everyone someday."  
  
"I know..but why this way! Dammit, it's my entire fault. I'm sorry." 


	10. Invitation

The next few days were hell. Whispers in the hallway whenever one of us walked to class, notes being mixed up, books being stolen, curses being cast...a fight even broke out between myself and another Slytherin. I had broken his nose for insulting me, and got ten days detention for my trouble.  
  
Harry had it easier than me, his best friend was gay, and, thought it took a little while for him to accept that we were going out, Ron finally apologized for his rudeness and told Harry 'he'd deal with it.' Brilliant.  
  
Granger hadn't spoken to Harry in well over a week, and Harry, anxious and suicidal, cut himself whenever he got a cold glance from Hermione. I had to assure him that though she was a disgusting Mudblood (a term that got an angry glare out of him), she would eventually warm up to the idea. It wasn't like we were going to stop going out because of her. Harry fretted and moaned about her opinion, and finally I had to tell him that 'If she doesn't accept you, I'm sorry, Harry, but there's nothing we can do about it.' I had developed a pretty bleak look on the remaining school years: we wouldn't be accepted. At least we'd have each other, I told Harry, kissing his eyelids, his eyelashes damp from crying yet again.  
  
Christmas Eve was in a week, and I waited nervously at every meal time, looking out for a pure black owl that belonged to Lucius. Against my will, I was afraid, because I knew what would be in that letter. Three days before Christmas Eve, I got it. I had been right; it had contained my worst and growing fear.  
  
Draco -  
  
You will come home for Christmas. Then, as I am sure you remember, you will join Lord Voldemort. The train leaves at 7:00 P.M. December 24. Do not reply to this, but if you do not board the train home on Christmas Eve, you will be found, tortured, and most likely killed. Do not defy your father and your Lord.  
  
Best wishes,  
  
Lucius Malfoy  
  
Best wishes! I laughed in spite of myself. What an idiot. Did he really think that I would go to join Voldemort? I would rather - and most likely, would - die then serve him. Borrowing a school owl, as I didn't want mine to be recognized again, I quickly penned a note to Harry.  
  
Harry -  
  
Lucius has just written to me. I am supposed to come home for Christmas and be initiated into Lord Voldemorts ranks. I'm not going, and Lucius has threatened me with torture. I don't care. I need to see you before Christmas Eve -we need to discuss what we're going to do.  
  
I paused for a moment, then dipped my quill back in the blood red ink and wrote, very carefully, something I had never written or spoken before, though I had thought it many times:  
  
I love you.  
  
I received a scribbled response within ten minutes.  
  
Draco -  
  
I agree, we do need to meet. I've missed you; we haven't talked in a while. Same place, same time, bring your Invisibility Cloak - and please, please be careful.  
  
Love you,  
  
Harry  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"Draco," Harry asked, resting his head of tousled black hair on my shoulder and yawning, "What are you going to do about Lucius?"  
  
I shrugged, staring into the flickering flames. "I don't have any idea, Harry. I know he's serious. If I don't go home, he'll find me. He'll rape me, probably, as is his ritual, and then he'll give me to his group of Death Eaters, and they will have great fun torturing me." I spoke flatly, I had experienced torture and pain before, but my eyes gave me away: the cloudy grayness of them was damp and the room before me was starting to waver. I hadn't cried since the summer, I had been determined not to, but at the moment I didn't really care. Bringing up memories of the summer was never something good to do.  
  
Harry looked at me, using his thumb to wipe away a solitary tear slipping from my eye. "Draco..can you hide anywhere? Is there any chance of escaping if you do go home, before the dinner, can you get out, go anywhere? Draco, this is life or death, I don't want you to be hurt or dead in the end, and if anything happens to you.." He fell silent, then spoke almost in a whisper. "I'll bloody kill myself."  
  
I stared at Harry, willing him to say something else, but he only looked at me gravely, and something in his eyes told me that it was true, if anything did happen to me he would kill himself. I knew he was capable of it, he had tried it before. I felt a chill travel up my spine, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. "No, you won't." I answered back finally, looking into Harrys eyes. "Because I'll be safe. I'll be fine. I promise."  
  
"So you're going there?" he asked, again placing his head on my shoulder. "Do you have a way to escape? A place to hide?"  
  
I lied to Harry, the first time I had ever done so.  
  
"Yes." 


	11. Holidays

He looked up at me, surprised. "You do? Where?" His eyes looking straight into mine, I could barely breathe. When I didn't respond, he asked again: "Draco? Do you really have a place to escape?"  
  
I held my breath, willing myself not to blurt out "No!" I wanted Harry to be comfortable, safe over Christmas, and his knowing that I was to become a Death Eater, that I had no way to escape from my fate, was not a big help. I'd figure out a plan eventually. Maybe this would be the last time I'd see Harry. Maybe I'd escape. I didn't know.  
  
I smiled at Harry, feeling horrible as I did so. "Yeah, Harry, I'll be fine." Leaning down, I lightly kissed his forehead, a somewhat sappy thing to do, but I felt it was good for the moment. Harry responded by lifting his head, leaning forward, and firmly kissing me on the mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back tears, and kissed him back, far rougher than I meant to. Gasping as the kiss became deeper; Harry ran his black painted fingers (which I had done for him) down my back, resting his hands just above the top of my pants. Gripping the end of my shirt, he began pulling it up, over to my shoulders, and then he moved his lips away from mine, to allow the shirt to slide over my head. Eyes glistening, he whispered "Draco..can I see..?"  
  
He didn't have to finish his sentence; I turned around for him to see my back. He lightly traced his fingers over the welts and bruises, the long red scars that contrasted so greatly with my milk-white skin. I winced as he explored my back, where my father had let all his anger out, and, though I couldn't see his face, I heard a small sob escape his throat.  
  
"Oh, my God, Draco, how could he do this to you?" Harry whispered, his voice filled with sorrow and awe. "How could anyone hurt you?"  
  
Pulling back from my skin, he stood, angrily pacing the cold stone floor, making imposing shadows on the cobweb-covered walls. "I'll kill him!" he declared, his dejected voice suddenly replaced with white-hot anger. I watched him do so, clenching his fists, glancing at me occasionally, where I sat on the couch, watching him with half-lidded eyes. I'd never seen Harry so passionate about anything in the while time I had known him. He honestly wanted to kill Lucius, the murderer I had once called my father.  
  
Finally, he slowed, walking slowly across the floor, his head down, seeming to stare at something infinitely beyond what I could see.  
  
"Harry?" I asked quietly, and he started, then smiled sadly and returned to the couch. Sitting close to me, he curled his knees up to his chest and looked at me. Slowly he said, "Draco..I trust you. I know that when you go back to the Manor, you will find some way to defeat Voldemort, to defy your father, and when you do that.." He took a deep breath, and then continued, quickly, "I want you to hurt him. For me."  
  
I nodded once, then we held each other for a good part of an hour, occasionally whispering to each other, occasionally kissing, knowing that in three days we'd be separated, with no way to reach each other, no way to communicate, no way to tell each other we cared.  
  
Three days later, it was Christmas Eve. The halls were bustling with activity, since we had no school for a week, people could do almost whatever they liked. Mistletoe was hung over every door, the ghosts were busy bursting in during meal times and singing loud rounds of Christmas carols, with Peeves behind them, grinning, ending the usually slow song with a jolly chorus of 'Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.'  
  
Harry and I had met in the abandoned classroom last three days ago, and before my train left tonight, at 7:00 P.M., we were planning to meet again. Oddly cheery, we decided to give the whole school a special pre-Christmas treat.  
  
Five o'clock arrived, and with it, a hoard of students entering the Great Hall. Surprisingly enough, most students had stayed at school for the holiday, and there was a great rush to get to the table. Everyone was ravishingly hungry, the couples had spent the whole day snogging, the frightened-first years had explored the school, only to get trapped in a dungeon by Peeves, and the few teachers left had been spent getting them out.  
  
After all of the students had gone in, Harry and I exited our hiding spot behind a large suit of armor, who had been chattering noisily to us until we had whispered at it to shut up. We tiptoed to the main doors of the Hall and entered, interrupting the chatter of our classmates. Everyone stared, they hadn't seen us together much during the school year, and of course they had heard about our "late-night romps", as people called them. We would give them quite a show.  
  
Harry turned top me, grinning. "Ready?" he asked, voice giving no hint of how nervous we both really were.  
  
"Yeah!" I answered, and leaned forward.  
  
The kiss seemed to last for at least a minute; I could feel it from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, the tingling persisting even after we had pulled apart. Smiling, we turned to sit down at an empty table, and when we did, we looked around. Everyone, from the smallest first-years to the teachers, was staring at us. Some with deep looks of disgust, some giggling, and Dumbledore, like always, had a glitter in his eye and a smile on his face. Winking at us, he stood up and began his speech. 


	12. Curse

The dinner that night was (not surprisingly) more subdued, almost every student was watching us, not eating, wanting us to make another move. We didn't, and laughed at how the whole school found us fairies, poofters, gay men - so entirely fascinating. Harry and I nibbled on our food, smiling occasionally at each other and waiting for the mealtime to be over.  
  
Finally, Dumbledore said we were free to go. Harry and I separated to go to our Common Rooms - we didn't want to be followed to our secret spot by a bunch of nosy gits.  
  
I quickly walked down the hall to the room, listening to my feet echoing on the stone floor. I spoke the password, entered the Common Room, and was surprised to see, or rather, to not see, that it was empty. Usually the leather couches before the crackling fire were occupied by at least one person, reading a book, or even a few people, chatting about the demise of a certain Gryffindor. No whisper permeated the silence - no one was hiding, or if they were, doing a very good job of it. I frowned and headed upstairs.  
  
I was greeted with a blinding flash of light and the worst pain I had ever felt in my life. My insides, my flesh, every part of me felt like it was on fire - like poison was spreading to my limbs. Before I could see what, or who, had hit me with what I knew was a curse, I had passed out, drifting into empty blackness, feeling as if I floated on air.  
  
I was woken up by these words: "Hello, Draco."  
  
Spoken by (you guessed it) Lucius.  
  
I opened my eyes, and my sight was momentarily blurry. I recognized a figure standing over me, its long blonde hair almost brushing my pale face, and I realized, with disgust, but not much surprise, that it was Lucius who had cursed me. I knew exactly where I was - the bleak stone walls had been my prison over the summer. I shook my head to clear away to flashes of color and pain before my eyes, and sat up.  
  
"Welcome home." Lucius said, smiling down at me, for he had stood up and now towered above me, his black robes and shadowed face making him look for the entire world like the Grim Reaper. A smile played across his mouth, but his eyes, dark grey and narrowed, gave away his true feelings. I knew what he was going to do. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted, and I knew what was behind me.  
  
Lucius grimaced in pain momentarily, surely because of the mark in his flesh burning like when it had first been applied. I knew it tormented him, for I had sensed that the Dark Lord and his followers were behind me. I stood quickly and faced a small group of hooded figures. My spine straightened as I looked into the crimson eyes of Voldemort.  
  
There was silence for a moment - utter, unnatural stillness, and then I reacted. Quickly plunging my hand into my robes pockets, I realized, cursing myself, that Lucius had already taken my wand. I was defenseless. I had no way to escape, and I was to become the Dark Lords plaything. I dropped to the ground as I heard one of the Death Eaters speak, asking their Dark Master what they should do to me. "The boy? How shall we deal with him?"  
  
In a dry, slow voice, Voldemort answered: "It matters not to me. Make him feel pain. Make him feel pleasure. But afterwards, bring him to me, for I shall make him one of my own. Do with him what you will."  
  
I knew I was doomed.  
  
I silently screamed as the cloaked figures formed a circle around me. I watched Lucius stand to the side, his face blank, void of emotions. I heard the dry, raspy breaths of Voldemort, felt myself being struck and dragged across the floor, and I cried. Cried out to anyone, everyone, as if someone, somewhere, could hear my pain. Tears streaming down my face, in pain as I felt my clothes being torn, I prayed silently to God, to whomever or whatever deity existed, to save me. I mumbled incoherently, begging for forgiveness, crying out for Harry, pleading and screaming and sobbing all at once.  
  
Before passing out yet again, I vaguely recognized Lucius above me, smiling that cruel smile of his, and I realized that he, again, like last summer, was going to rape me. As everyone watched, leering, I again felt that unspeakable pain, and was transported to blackness, wishing that somehow my wrists would be sliced open, and I would bleed to death on Voldemorts robes before he ever got the chance to Mark me.  
  
I woke again to faces over me, and I was numb for a moment, completely calm, not worried about my fate, not sobbing in suffering over the numerous gashes on my back and chest, not sensing the cold air on my body and the fact that I lay, utterly bared, in the faction of the most vile creatures I could think of, both in the wizarding and Muggle worlds.  
  
And then I heard a harsh laugh, and I was immediately conscious of the fact that in a few minutes, I would be initiated into the ranks of the Dark Lord, whether I wanted to or whether I didn't. I groaned, squeezed my eyes shut, tried to ignore the shrieks of laughter erupting around me. The bastards thought abusing me was fun; it was like a sport to them! I knew then that there was a devil, that evil was present in the form of one human (or non-human) being - Voldemort was the embodiment of everything demonic and wrathful in this world. And I silently prayed, hoping Harry would survive, though I had little hope, and as I felt myself being lifted by strong arms and carried into another dungeon, I shivered and all traces of hope leave me. 


	13. Pain

I was dumped on another floor, naked and bleeding, and as I lay there, pain coursing through my body, I heard a door slam and my torturers exit. I was alone. I lay quietly for some time, taking in what I could, sure that these things I was seeing were to be the last things I'd ever look upon. Funny how beautiful leaves can look, even seen through a filthy window. I observed the stones of the ceiling, the rusty pile of chains that had been discarded long ago.  
  
I was sure I was going to be killed, for I wasn't going to join Voldemort. One solitary tear trickled down my dirt and blood-streaked face as I remembered Harry at our last meeting. I had lied to him. And now I was going to die. I wouldn't ever see him again. Even if he did find me, very unlikely, I'd be dead before he got here.  
  
I grimaced at the thought of being murdered, and cursed myself silently for thinking such thoughts about Harry. Of course he'd find me. I had to have hope. I didn't have anything else. My own father wanted me to die, even though he insisted joining Voldemort was like nothing ever felt before, a pleasure beyond imagination. The Death Eaters, to me, were like empty shells, soulless, dead beings that murdered others. I remembered how, before I had met Harry, I had been sort of like that. I hadn't given a fuck about anyone except myself. I was a rude, snobby brat, and I deserved to die. It was a miracle Harry would ever consider talking to me. Our first meeting, I had insulted his best friend.  
  
"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."  
  
I had then held out my hand, eager for Harry to shake it, and, to my surprise, Harry had refused. No one refused a Malfoy. At that instant, he was my enemy.  
  
How it had changed. I remembered Harry kissing my wounds on my wrists, and I knew at that moment, we were connected. We had something to share. No more petty fights about bloodlines and parents. No rows over who made more money, or who got better grades. I had been fascinated with Harry at that moment, awed but frustrated all at the same time.  
  
Thank God I had acted on my feelings.  
  
Opening my eyes from my pleasant daydream, I peered around the dungeon. The room had darkened slightly as the sun began to sink below the horizon. I couldn't see out of the window, and swallowed nervously when I realized that I was still alone.  
  
I lifted myself up on an elbow, groaning softly as the pain coursed through my body. White-hot knives sliced open my back, my legs, and my fingers came away from my back sticky with clotted blood. Easing myself up by my other elbow, I was able to look at the condition of my body. Just as I thought. Red welts, bleeding wounds, and bruises.  
  
I closed my eyes again, leaned back my head, and summoned up strength from who-knows-where inside of me. I had to get up. I had to find out where Harry was, where Lucius was, if I was going to die or if I was going to live.  
  
My hope was slowly diminishing. Harry hadn't arrived, and it was surely a bad sign that the Death Eaters were being silent. They were supposed to be preparing me for receiving the Dark Mark. I shook my head, determined to find out what was going on. As I was slowly lifting myself up, the door opened. Opened with such force as to crumble the stone it came in contact with on the wall. In the doorway were two hooded figures, and I'm sure the rest of the group was behind them. The figures stopped, save for one, slowly walking towards me, polished shoes not making a sound on the rough floors. Just below me, he lowered his hood, revealing a shock of white- blond hair that spilled past his shoulders. His pale, pointed face looked down at me, grey eyes narrowed, and then, he laughed.  
  
I hadn't the slightest idea of what he was doing. I hadn't a clue what I was going to do, for that matter. I had no wand with which to curse him, I could barely stand, and besides, did I really think that one broken boy could even come close to matching the powers of Voldemort?  
  
Lucius smiled down at me, cruelly, and, quickly, offered me a hand. I narrowed my eyes at him, mimicking the look he had taught me so well as a child, and refused. There was a soft murmur from the otherwise silent body of somber figures. "What," whispered Lucius, "do you mean by this? Is my son refusing his own father?" His face was mask of coldness; seeming to be etched of the very stone I was lying on.  
  
I responded, my voice barely audible: "Yes."  
  
Lucius smiled, if you could call it that, and turned. "Bring him forward." He said, chuckling as he again turned to me. "Are you sure this is want you want, Draco?"  
  
I didn't respond, peering behind him to see what the Death Eaters were dragging forward. It seemed to be a body, and as it got closer, I realized who it was. Crying in pain, softly, not really caring who saw, I felt all hope for survival drain me. Limply stretching out on the floor, I stared at the form.  
  
Exactly my height, a bit too thin by standards, and a mop of black hair. Green eyes lay hidden beneath paper-thin eyelids, bruises were beginning to color the delicate wrists, as if someone had dragged them a little too far a little too roughly.  
  
I cried out in pain, clumsily reaching for the figure, as I realized it was not breathing. No gentle up-and-down movement of the chest, not even shallow sighs parting the lips.  
  
Harry was dead. 


	14. Goodbye

I slumped down onto the stone floor, head in hands, sobbing quietly. I hadn't known pain until this. I thought that cutting myself hurt, but this, this was much worse. I felt as if my senses had been numbed, I couldn't talk, couldn't smell, taste, see anything except for Harry's body in front of me. I stared at his unblinking eyes and fragile form for well over five minutes, the tears sliding down my face, dripping down my chin, and I remembered. I remembered the long talks Harry and I had had. How we had discussed our lives after Hogwarts, how we would travel the world together, be free of all responsibilities. No parents or relatives to try to control our lives. We'd be safe. Happy. Free.  
  
Looking up from Harry's body, I met the gaze of Lucius. He too, was staring at Harry's body, but oddly, smirking. The traditional Malfoy smirk.  
  
"Oh, Draco..." he shook his head. "You must feel horrible..."  
  
I stared at Lucius; with hatred so deep I could feel it burning me. My face grew hot and I gripped my hands together, making fists as if to attack him. "You don't know or give a shite about how I feel." I replied through clenched teeth. I wanted, like Harry had asked me to, to hurt Lucius. It had been his last request to me. I'd never talk to him again.  
  
Lucius gazed at me with his silvery eyes. "Oh, Draco. You did kill him, you know that?" He smiled thinly, and at my feeble motion to get up, pushed me back down on the cold floor.  
  
"Sit, Draco, and I will tell you why."  
  
I sat, as ordered, feeble, feeling what my father had always taught me never to feel: fear. I took Harrys hand, and even though it was cold, bruised, it give me a little comfort to touch someone who I had loved and who had loved me back.  
  
"Draco." Lucius paced in front of me, as if trying to think of what to say.  
  
"Draco.we never really meant to kill you. Hurt you, yes, at the request of Lord Voldemort, but never kill you. We knew about your relationship with Harry, as you know from my letters. You might be wondering why I didn't do anything about it, why I didn't come to your school and take you out, send you off to Durmstrang, try and make you date Pansy again, so our blood like could continue. No, I resisted. Because I knew. I knew that you and Harry would fall in love, and that he would do anything to save you if you were harmed."  
  
"It was so easy to get him to come to our meeting place. We took you, and carefully placed a note on Harry's bed, one of yours that I had sent you, reminding you to catch the train or else I would come for you. Harry knew that you weren't going to take it, and so, obviously, he came here. It was quite easy to kill him - Lord Voldemort had that pleasure, I'm afraid.a quick duel, a curse - and that was that. The-Boy-Who-Lived had been defeated."  
  
A snicker came from the group of figures standing still by the doorway, and a person stepped forward, drawing back their hood as they came closer and closer to me.  
  
It was Goyle's father, his doughy, pale face making him look exactly like his son.  
  
"Yes, Draco, my son told me all about it. How you tossed about at night, whispering Harrys name."  
  
He continued talking, but I ceased listening. I had had dreams about Harry most every night, usually ones were he was murdered by Voldemort. They had seemed so real. How I wished they were not true.  
  
"..He told me, Draco, that you snuck out of the Common Room most every night, not saying a word. You had no friends in your House, and you and Potter openly cavorted on school grounds." His eyes narrowed. "How could you be so ignorant?"  
  
I stared back at him, my face blank, an empty canvas that revealed nothing. "How?" I whispered. "How do you think!? You think I was going to hide it from everyone? Did you think I was going to hurt Harry? No! I wasn't!" I glanced at Lucius as I said the next words. "Harry loved me, and that's a lot more than any of you can say about anyone. No one has ever loved you, no one ever will, for you're disgusting, murderous pigs, you deserve to die, you deserve the same deaths as your victims, your 'Lord' and master is controlling you - and that's OK? You follow him like servants, bending to his every need, but didn't you teach your children that no, they were better than everyone else; they didn't have to answer to anyone!? You kill for pleasure, for fun, really, trying to purge the world of people different from you. You're fucking disgusting. You don't give a shite about anyone, and no one gives a shite about you."  
  
My defiant gaze seemed to please Lucius, and, as always, he gave a cold laugh. "Draco - you'll never learn, will you? Never, in all my years raising you -"  
  
I cut him off. "Raising me! Oh, yeah, you really raised me. Beating me when I got a bad mark, raping me if I defied you, locking me in the dungeon for my summer holidays - and killing my mother! Yes, you're a great father." I sneered sarcastically. I sounded childish, I knew, but my words and anger were all I had left.  
  
Lucius grabbed my hand, roughly pulling me up, my hand slipping out of Harrys. Grasping my chin, his face so close to mine I could see my reflection in his eyes, he spoke.  
  
"Now, if I may finish. Draco, you never learned the one important thing that I had tried to teach you - never give in to your feelings. Never let them show. It makes you weak. You must be cruel. You were better than everyone - and I say 'were' Draco, because you have failed me. You have flouted my rules, the laws of the wizarding world, and now, Draco, now you will pay for it. I will give you something worse than death."  
  
He thrust me backwards, and I staggered, running into the steel bars of a long-forgotten prison cell. I stood there, knees weak, but standing. I saw Goyle hood himself once more, and with the rest of the Death Eaters, save my father, he exited the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.  
  
"Draco," my father continued, obscuring his features once more with the heavy hood. "I am going to leave you now. I'm leaving you with Harry. I am leaving you here until you, too, die. I am leaving you to look upon Harry's face, to imagine what you could have done to save him. How, if only you had obeyed me, you could have spared his life."  
  
It was silent for a moment while I took in all Lucius had said. He was leaving me here, to die, to starve to death. How I had ever loved him was a mystery to me.  
  
"Goodbye, Draco." He said, and then he turned his back to me, reached the door, and slammed it shut, locking it so I couldn't escape, even if I wanted to.  
  
I stared at the wall, stared at the place that he had stood. He had said I killed Harry. That it was my entire fault. I deserved to die.  
  
Dropping down, I sat by Harry, and, caressing his face, I re-lived every moment that we had spent together. From we had first met, to him kissing me, the hallway, the school dungeons, the midnight Quidditch matches in below freezing weather and a warm embrace afterwards. Our gifts that we had exchanged for Christmas - a little early, but we hadn't known when we would see each other again. I had given him my pocketknife, a depressing gift, I know, but it did have meaning. I had stopped cutting, it was something I didn't need to do now, for I was happy in the time I knew Harry. There wasn't one time when I was sad that Harry didn't comfort me. With him, I had no reason to die.  
  
A tear, then two, made their way down my grimy face. I did now.  
  
Wiping my eyes, I cleared my vision and began to look through Harrys pockets. There were tonnes of things to find, some of them made me smile, and each one reminded me of something we had done together. A stamp was when he had tried to teach me about Muggle postage. A lot of good that had done. A handful of wrapped toffee was a remainder from our Hogsmeade trip earlier that month. A piece of parchment brought back memories of sending notes in class, carefully avoiding each other and Snapes eyes.  
  
Finally I found it. Flipping open each compartment, I admired the way the blade was so clean. When I had owned it, it was usually dull, a bit of dried blood on the edge that needed to be cleared away.  
  
Pressing it to the scars on my wrist, I studied Harrys face one last time.  
  
"It all started innocently enough, didn't it, Harry?"  
  
I smiled, sadly.  
  
"What we had together, I've never regretted."  
  
-The End- 


End file.
